


Ranch Dressing Hurricane

by lilMango



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilMango/pseuds/lilMango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly sick Dan ends his live show and decides to scroll through twitter, but he eventually ends up thinking about Phil again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ranch Dressing Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> (The title has nothing to do with the story. Blame Duck and Ickle)
> 
> This is also my first time posting here. Cool

“Aaaalright haveagooddaybye…” Dan triple-clicked the red ‘x’ at the top of his browser and covered the camera with his other hand. He sat in that position for a moment, hoping his computer didn’t freeze and decide to keep broadcasting his every breath to thousands of people. He clicked once more for good measure and then peered at his screen under his hand, realizing he had probably accidentally closed all of his notes without saving them. 

When he finally took his hand off of his camera, he sighed and opened twitter. He could feel himself unwinding, pushing back his hair and slouching so his back was pressed up against his chair. He could hear the TV blaring in the other room, indistinguishable yells and the faint whoosh-ing sounds of transition graphics. Phil hadn’t left his spot on the couch for hours, undoubtedly reading e-mails or writing something.

But Dan couldn’t close his computer to join him quite yet. He scrolled through twitter, looking through his replies and his mentions during the day’s live show. Half of them were in all capital letters, which seemed, at least, somewhat positive. He got a few cynical comments about his jacket and how boring he was and how tired he looked and how rushed it seemed, but, those were typical for Dan. He liked to ignore them, most of the time.

Sometimes it was fun to fall into little holes scattered throughout the internet; a fan’s account and what they thought of him and who they followed and such. It was interesting, and sometimes he would learn something new from a viewer of his.

If he wasn’t careful, though, the little holes would get deeper and connect to other holes and he would find himself stuck at the very bottom, finding connected tumblr blogs and fan fictions and going other places he didn’t like to go. Hate blogs were at the very pit of this system, and whenever he found one it was like stumbling into someone else’s dark hallway. He would close the window and resume his life when he found one, but… they were always there. His curiosity killed him, thinking about what people criticized him for.

Tumblr blogs were different than youtube comments, right? By reading feedback, wasn’t he doing his job? A million questions eventually convinced him to peek at a few posts, squinting to read the thin font over a green polka-dotted background. There were pages and pages of anonymous questions to the blog about why they hated Dan or why they said this or why they were such a hateful person. Most of the responses were gifs or a few sentences of grammar-mocking. Boring.

By the time Dan had read a few posts, he realized this person didn’t hate him. Well, they didn’t hate Dan, they hated the way he looked and his repetitive peace-sign pose at meet-and-greets. Other than that, they just hated Dan’s viewers. _The Fans. The young, impressionable female audience_ who were all being brainwashed by his _#relatable_ act. He blinked and chuckled.

Dan was tired. He was hot. He was hungry. His lungs ached. He closed the tab on his computer and erased the blog from his browsing history, glancing at the clock. _Holy shit, it’s been almost an hour since the live show ended._ He groaned and slumped onto the desk, arms folding over his head. The wood smelled like glue, and his breath warmed the space under his head quickly. He coughed and closed his eyes, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his jacket sleeve. A million thoughts whirled in his head about his plans for tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the next… and he got lost in them, imagining outfits and estimating how long it would take him to edit gaming videos and thinking about what phil would cook tonight and…. phil. 

The TV was still murmuring from the lounge down the hall. Dan imagined Phil sitting on the sofa with his glasses on, his fringe pushed back and his laptop humming. He imagined tiny keyboard clicks, and the occasional sighs as Phil made mistakes or opened a new project. He thought about Phil’s foot tapping, his glances at the TV whenever a new show came on. Phil was always there, in the other room. Right there, whenever Dan needed him.

The next thing Dan knew, Phil was shaking him gently.

“Dan. Dan? What do you want for dinner?” Dan inhaled sharply and sat up, blinking and stretching his arms.

“S’whatever. Stir fry?” He turned around to look at Phil, and he was exactly how Dan had imagined him; forehead exposed, glasses tilted slightly, face drooping from exhaustion. Phil hummed and nodded in agreement, turning around to exit Dan’s room.

Dan followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“How was the live show, then? Did they rip you to shreds?” Dan chuckled.

“A bit. I think I’m still sick, though.” Dan examined his bottle of antibiotics. “I swear I’m taking this stuff right, or so the doctor says, but…” he shrugged and went to get himself a glass of water.

“Just hope you’re alright by next week.” Phil stopped Dan by the sink. “You’re alright otherwise, though?”

Dan smiled. “Yeah, Phil. I’m fine.” He pushed past Phil and moved into the lounge, sinking into the spot on the couch next to the laptop, waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> "Urgh what should I call this?"
> 
> "RANCH DRESSING!"
> 
> "No, call it HURRICANE!"
> 
>  
> 
> "..... okay."


End file.
